


Project Lullaby

by stuckybarnes



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Babysitting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Future, Future Fic, Gen, Government Agencies, Gun Violence, Hate to Love, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M, Mercenaries, Near Future, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Poison, Poisoning, Road Trips, Saving the World, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Snipers, Violence, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 16:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19088497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckybarnes/pseuds/stuckybarnes
Summary: Some years ago, America grew distraught with the unrelenting violence and war inside and outside its borders, and with analytics technology more advanced than words can grasp, created a tool that would, hopefully, notify them of catastrophic violence before it happened. They built it, and they named it Remedy.Eventually, it even started to live up to its name.





	Project Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Posting another of my original stories! All plots and characters are of my imagination. I'll update as I write; hope you enjoy!

There were only so many violent acts that the world’s nations could tolerate. Only so many mass shooting, terrorist attacks, hate crimes, nuclear explosives, until someone snapped.

The only problem was that nobody snapped sooner.

Some years ago, America grew distraught with the unrelenting violence and war inside and outside its borders, and with analytics technology more advanced than words can grasp, created a tool that would, hopefully, notify them of catastrophic violence before it happened. They built it, and they named it Remedy.

Eventually, it even started to live up to its name.

The Predictive Intelligence Protection Agency, known by its agents as PIPA, opened soon after in 2068 as the first and only shadow branch of the government, known to only a chosen few. Its sole location was constructed in New York City, 476 5th Avenue, burrowed deep below the New York Public Library. The entire headquarters was built in less than a year under the guise of plumbing maintenance to the building’s ancient foundation. In reality, the building was fortified tenfold, with security and public obscurity that even the most protected military bases could only dream of. From that moment on, the massive stone lions, Patience and Fortitude, guarded more than just books.

Remedy was the world’s most prized and protected asset, even if almost nobody knew of its existence. Sometimes it would spit out a simple flight number or a ticket stub to an upcoming play; sometimes it would give a full name or even a date. The disaster or its solution could be immediate or could be cryptic and minuscule, a tiny event or benign action that would eventually snowball into something disastrous. But each time, the issue was neutralized, and devastating and senseless crime was reduced by up to 80%. The year was now 2080, and The Agency has been protecting the world and its people for over a decade under the sole guidance of its president, Cynthia Watson. Watson’s only superior was the President of the United States itself, and she led with utter tact, intent, and unerring determination.

To preserve secrecy, they received no excessive government funding and absolutely no protection; even the President of the country would deny their existence if an agent were to get caught. Agents ranged from intelligent computer experts working low level IT jobs, skilled ex-cons, honorably and dishonorably discharged military personnel, militias from communist countries seeking asylum, black market mercenaries, and hitmen. People nobody would miss. To keep the branch as private as possible, field agents were rotated out consistently - the more memorable, the faster they were removed, no matter how effective.

Watson was regretting this security measure more than ever when she was given the tool’s newest data. When the analysts received that single sheet of paper, their faces paled. When Watson was summoned to their floor, even some of her own composure rushed out of her for a brief second in a puff of breath.

_Protect: Ona Kimbel, age 1.5, until an adequate safe house and identity is established_

_Reason: Will, by some action, save the world from cataclysmic devastation in adulthood_

It wasn’t as much of a shock as she expected it to be. There comes a certain finality and resolve when faced with the inevitable, and Watson was grateful for the fact. It was happening. Concrete. Whether they knew how it would happen, at least there was a sense of certainty now. She needed no sleep, no moment to sit down, no day to deliberate. Instantly, all active field agents feebly crumbled from her thoughts like a tower of cards under the unforgiving wind. Protocol dissipated and she immediately had analysts bring two files to her office, long recycled to the back of the lock-and-key drawers and computer records. Their reference photos were indented with paper clip marks and frayed around every edge, but despite its efforts, the aging gloss finish did nothing to mask the calculated gleam in their eyes.

_**Conrad Finch, DOB 03.14.54 (26)** _

_Status: mercenary_

_Notable features: 6’2”, athletic build, arm and back tattoos, red hair, brown eyes_

_Skills: sharp-shooter, marksman, adaptable, eidetic memory, hand-to-hand combat, reconnaissance_

_Last Used: 05.17.76_

  _ **Julian (Jules) Greer, DOB 01.22.56 (24)**_

_Status: mercenary_

_Notable features: 5’11”, lean build, scattered chemical burns, dark hair, light eyes_

_Skills: poison + toxicology, psychological persuasion, hyper-observance, deep-cover, hand-to-hand combat, reconnaissance_

_Last Used: 10.13.77_

Cynthia Watson trailed her eyes down the file folder with something akin to tentative and drawn hope in her eyes. She was taking a risk, and she knew it. Despite being involved with PIPA for much of the same time, neither field agent ever crossed paths. There was never any need. Both men were entirely capable and were better, more effective, alone. Not to mention that working alone minimized the chance of their covers being blown.

Conrad Finch was ex-military turned mercenary, operating through the black market. An impressive kill count stashed under his belt, all primarily accomplished from hundreds of yards away, through the scope of a gun. After a formidable hunt, the FBI found him, apprehended him (not without losing many of their own agents), and were about to bury him miles and miles deep in a Super-Max prison before Watson took him to work for PIPA. He was smart; took the offer with little thought after Watson promised him relative freedom and the chance to get paid to kill, with any resource he could want at his disposal. Conrad had the gait of a hunter, quiet, sure, combative, aloof. Absurdly pragmatic.

Julian Greer was a different man altogether. Puckish and book smart, he was just as notorious as Conrad, but a horrible shot. Instead, he could poison anybody, anything, a hundred different ways without a single trace on an autopsy. Lithe and lean with an airy sense of wit and ease about him, he was not the least bit imposing, and this allowed him to do his work, mostly, up close. In some ways, this made him even more dangerous than Conrad. Julian’s work traveled strictly through word of mouth. Unlike Conrad, he didn’t get caught, per se, at all. Instead, Watson found his information, posed as a buyer, and eventually convinced him to join.

All of PIPA’s staff were good. They had to be. Conrad and Julien were some of the best. But being good eventually came with a certain vague familiarity that was too dangerous to allow them to remain in the field.

Wholly different humans in both personality and skill. But both entirely and undoubtedly lethal, with preservation instincts for their own reasons to boot. They were perfect.

Watson pressed a key on her desk phone.

“Boss?” one of her analysts answered.

“Find me Conrad Finch and Julian Greer.”

A beat. Another beat. “They’ve been rotated out.”

“I’m well aware. But I have to assume the current situation warrants pulling them back, don’t you think?”

He said nothing for a moment, but his sigh was one of woeful agreement. “Of Course.”

“Find them, please. Dispatch a team of field agents to bring them back here. _Respectfully._ We don’t need anyone getting hurt.”

“Our agents wouldn’t hurt them. We need them.”

Watson closed her eyes briefly, rubbed at her temples. A smile ghosted across her face. They truly were everyone’s best chance. “No. Of course not. I was referring to the dispatch team.”

**Author's Note:**

> woo! hope y'all enjoyed that! PLEASE don't forget to leave kudos and COMMENTS - I thrive off reading what you have to think. if you think you know a pal who would enjoy the story, share it!


End file.
